SHUT OUT BY A PRISON WALL
The fiacre drew up at the gate of La Force. M. le Vicomte de Selincourt
got down, bowed politely, and assisted Madame de Montargis to alight.
He then gave his hand to her cousin, and the little party entered the
prison. Mme la Marquise walked delicately, with an exaggeration of that
graceful, mincing step which was considered so elegant by her admirers.
She fanned herself, and raised a scented pomander ball to her nostrils.
"Fi donc! What an air!" she observed with petulant disgust.
Renard of the dramatic soul shrugged his shoulders. It was vexing not to
be ready with a biting repartee, but he was consoled by the conviction
that a gesture from him was worth more than many words from some lesser
soul. His colleague Lenoir--a rough, coarse-faced hulk--scowled
fiercely, and growled out:
"Eh, Mme l'Aristocrate, it has been a good enough air for many a poor
devil of a patriot, as the citizen gaoler here can tell you, and turn
and turn about's fair play." And with that he spat contemptuously in
Madame's path, and scowled again as she lifted her dainty petticoats a
trifle higher but crossed the inner threshold without so much as a
glance in his direction.
Bault, the head gaoler of La Force, motioned the prisoners into a dull
room, used at this time as an office, but devoted at a later date to a
more sinister purpose, for it was here in days to come--days whose
shadow already rested palpably upon the thick air--that the hair of the
condemned was cut, and their arms pinioned for the last fatal journey
which ended in the embraces of Mme Guillotine.
Bault opened the great register with a clap of the leaves that betokened
impatience. He was a nervous man, and the times frightened him; he
slept ill at nights, and was irritable enough by day.
"Your names?" he demanded abruptly.
Mme de Montargis drew herself up and raised her arched eyebrows,
slightly, but quite perceptibly.
"I am the Marquise de Montargis, my good fellow," she observed, with
something of indulgence in her tone.
"First name, or names?" pursued Citizen Bault, unmoved.
"Laure Marie Josephe."
"And you?" turning without ceremony to the Vicomte.
"Jean Christophe de Selincourt, at your service, Monsieur. Quelle
comedie!" he added, turning to Mme de Montargis, who permitted a slight,
insolent smile to lift her vermilion upper lip. Meanwhile the
Commissioners were handing over their papers.
"Quite correct, Citizens." Then, with a glance around, "But what of
this demoiselle? There is no mention of her that I can see."
Lenoir laughed and swore.
"Eh," he said, "she was all for coming, and I dare say a whiff of the
prison air, which the old Citoyenne found so trying, will do her no
harm."
Bault shook a doubtful head, and Renard threw himself with zeal into the
role of patriot, animated at once by devotion to the principles of
liberty, and loyalty to law and order.
"No, no, Lenoir; no, no, my friend. Everything must be done in order.
The Citoyenne sees now what comes of treason and plots. Let her be
warned in time, or she will be coming back for good. For this time
there is no accusation against her."
He spoke loudly, hand in vest, and felt himself every inch a Roman; but
his magniloquence was entirely lost on Mademoiselle, for, with a cry of
dismay, she caught her cousin's hand.
"Oh, Messieurs, let me stop! Madame is my guardian, my place is with
her!"
Mme de Montargis looked surprised, but she interrupted the girl with
energy.
"Silence then, Aline! What should a young girl do in La Force? Fi
donc, Mademoiselle!"--as the soft, distressed murmur threatened to break
out again,--"you will do as I tell you. Mme de Maille will receive you;
go straight to her at the Hotel de Maille. Present my apologies for not
writing to her, and--
"Sacrebleu!" thundered Lenoir furiously, "this is not Versailles, where
a pack of wanton women may chatter themselves hoarse. Send the young
one packing, Bault, and lock these people up. Are the Deputies of the
Commune to stand here till nightfall listening to a pair of magpies?
Silence, I say, and march! The old woman and the young one, both of you
march, march!"
He laid a large dirty hand on Mlle de Rochambeau's shoulder as he spoke,
and pushed her towards the door. As she passed through it she saw her
cousin delicately accepting M. de Selincourt's proffered arm, whilst her
left hand, flashing with its array of rings, still held the sweet
pomander to her face. Next moment she was in the street.
Her first thought was for the fiacre which had conveyed them to the
prison, but to her despair it had disappeared, and there was no other
vehicle in sight.
As she stood in hesitating bewilderment, she was aware of the sound of
approaching wheels, and looking up she saw three carriages coming, one
behind the other, at a brisk pace. There were three priests in the
first, one of them so old that all the solicitous assistance of the two
younger men was required to get him safely down the high step and
through the gate. In the second were two ladies, whose faces seemed
vaguely familiar. Was it a year or only an hour ago that they had
laughed and jested at Mme de Montargis' brilliant gathering? They
looked at her in the same half uncomprehending manner, and passed on.
The last carriage bore the De Maille crest, but a National Guard
occupied the box-seat in place of the magnificent coachman Aline had
seen the day before, when Mme de Maille had taken her old friend's
daughter for a drive through Paris.
The door of the chariot opened, and Mme De Maille, pale, almost
fainting, was helped out. She looked neither to right nor left, and
when Aline started forward and would have spoken, the National Guard
pushed her roughly back.
"Go home, go home!" he said, not unkindly; "if you are not arrested,
thank the saints for it, for there are precious few aristocrats as lucky
to-day"; and Aline shrank against the wall, dumb with perturbation and
dismay.
As in a dream she listened to the clang of the prison gate, the roll of
departing wheels, and it was only when the last echo died away that the
mist which hung about her seemed to clear, and she realised that she was
alone in the deserted street.
Alone! In all her nineteen years she had never been really alone
before. As a child in her father's chateau, as a girl in her
aristocratic convent, she had always been guarded, sheltered, guided,
watched. She had certainly never walked a yard in the open street, or
been touched by a man's hand, as the Commissioner Lenoir had touched her
a few minutes since. She felt her shoulder burn through the thin muslin
fichu that veiled it so discreetly, and the blood ran up, under her
delicate skin, to the roots of the curling hair, where gold tints showed
here and there through the lightly sprinkled powder.
It was still very hot, though so late in the afternoon, and the sun,
though near its setting, shot out a level ray or two that seemed to make
palpable the strong, brooding heat of the evening.
Aline felt dazed, and so faint that she was glad to support herself
against the rough prison wall. When she could control her trembling
thoughts a little, she began to wonder what she should do. She had only
been a week in Paris, she knew no one except her cousin, the Vicomte,
and Mme de Maille, and they were in prison--they and many, many more.
For the moment these frowning walls stood to her for home, or all that
she possessed of home, and she was shut outside, in a dreadful world,
full of unknown dangers, peopled perhaps with persons who would speak to
her as Lenoir had done, touch her even,--and at that she flushed again,
shuddered and looked wildly round.
A very fat woman was coming down the street,--the fattest woman Mlle de
Rochambeau had ever seen, yes, fatter even than Sister Josephe, she
considered, with that mechanical detachment of thought which is so often
the accompaniment of great mental distress.
She wore a striped petticoat and a gaily flowered gown, the sleeves of
which were rolled up to display a pair of huge brown arms. She had a
very broad, sallow face, and little pig's eyes sunk deep in rolls of
crinkled flesh. Aline gazed at her, fascinated, and the woman returned
the look. In truth, Mlle de Rochambeau, with her rose-wreathed hair,
her delicate muslin dress, her fichu trimmed with the finest
Valenciennes lace, her thin stockings and modish white silk shoes, was a
sufficiently arresting figure, when one considered the hour and the
place. The fat woman hesitated a moment, and in that moment
Mademoiselle spoke.
"Madame----"
It was the most hesitating essay at speech, but the woman stopped and
swung her immense body round until she faced the girl.
"Eh bien, Ma'mselle," she said in a thick, drawling voice.
Mademoiselle moistened her dry lips and tried again.
"Madame--I do not know--can you tell me,--oh! you look kind, can you
tell me what to do?"
"What to do, Ma'mselle?"
"Oh yes, Madame, and--and where to go?"
"Where to go, Ma'mselle?"
"Yes, Madame."
"But why, Ma'mselle?"
When anything terrible happens to the very young, they are unable to
realise that the whole world does not know of their misfortune. Thus to
Mlle de Rochambeau it appeared inconceivable that this woman should be
in ignorance of so important an event as the arrest of the Marquise de
Montargis and her friends. It was only when, to a puzzled expression,
the woman added a significant tap of the gnarled forefinger upon the
heavy forehead, and, with a shrug of voluminous shoulders, prepared to
pass on, that it dawned upon her that here perhaps was help, and that it
was slipping away from her for want of a little explanation.
"Oh, Madame," she exclaimed desperately, "do listen to me. I am Mlle de
Rochambeau, and it is only a week since I came to Paris to be with my
cousin, the Marquise de Montargis, and now they have arrested her, and I
have nowhere to go."
A sound of voices came from behind the great gate of the prison.
"Walk a little way with me," said the fat woman abruptly. "There will
be more than you and me in this conversation if we loiter here like
this. Continue, then, Ma'mselle--you have nowhere to go? But why not
to your cousin's hotel then?"
"My cousin would have had me do so, but the Commissioners would not
permit it. Everything must be sealed up they said, the servants all
driven out, and no one to come and go until they had finished their
search for treasonable papers. My cousin is accused of corresponding
with Austria on behalf of the Queen," Mlle de Rochambeau remarked
innocently, but something in her companion's change of expression
convicted her of her imprudence, and she was silent, colouring deeply.
The fat woman frowned.
"Madame, your cousin, had a large society; her friends would protect
you."
Aline shook her head.
"I don't know who they are, Madame. Mme de Maille, to whom my cousin
commended me, is also in prison, and others too,--many others, the
driver of the carriage said. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to go,
nowhere at all, Madame."
"Sainte Vierge!" exclaimed the fat woman. The ejaculation burst from
her with great suddenness, and she then closed her lips very tightly and
walked on for some moments in silence.
"Have you any money?" was her next contribution to the conversation, and
Mademoiselle started and put her hand to her bosom. Until this moment
she had forgotten it, but the embroidered bag containing her cousin's
winnings reposed there safely enough, neighboured by her broken string
of pearls. She drew out the bag now and showed it to her companion, who
gave a sort of grunt, and permitted a new crease, expressive of
satisfaction, to appear upon her broad countenance.
"Eh bien!" she exclaimed. "All is easy. Money is a good key,--a very
good key, Ma'mselle. There are very few doors it won't unlock, and mine
is not one,--besides the coincidence! Figure to yourself that I was but
now on my way to ask my sister, who is the wife of Bault, the head
gaoler of La Force, whether she could recommend me some respectable
young woman who required a lodging. I did not look, it is true, for a
noble demoiselle,"--here the smooth voice took a tone which caused
Mademoiselle to glance up quickly, but all she saw was a narrowing of
the eyes above a huge impassive smile, and the flow of words
continued,--"la, la, it is all one to me, if the money is safe. There
is nothing to be done without money."
Mlle de Rochambeau drew a little away from her companion. She was
unaccustomed to so familiar a mode of speech, and it offended her.
The little, sharp eyes flashed upon her as she averted her face, and the
voice dropped back into its first tone.
"Well then, Ma'mselle, it is easily settled, and I need not go to my
sister at all to-night. It grows dark so early now, and I have no fancy
for being abroad in the dark; but one thing and another kept me, and I
said to myself, 'Put a thing off often enough, and you'll never do it at
all.' My cousin Therese was with me, the baggage, and she laughed; but
I was a match for her. 'That's what you've done about marriage,
Therese,' I said, and out of the shop she bounced in as fine a temper as
you'd see any day. She's a light thing, Therese is; and, bless me, if I
warned her once I warned her a hundred times! Always gadding
abroad,--and her ribbons--and her fal-lals--and the fine young men who
were ready to cut one another's throats for her sake! No, no, that's
not the way to get a husband and settle oneself in life. Look at me.
Was I beautiful? But certainly not. Had I a large dot? Not at all.
But respectable,--Mon Dieu, yes! No one in all Paris can say that
Rosalie Leboeuf is not respectable; and when Madame, your cousin, comes
out of prison and hears you have been under my roof, I tell you she will
be satisfied, Ma'mselle. No one has ever had a word to say against me.
I keep my shop, and I pay my way, even though times are bad. Regular
money coming in is not to be despised, so I take a lodger or two. I
have one now, a man. A man did I say? An angel, a patriot, a true
patriot; none of your swearing, drinking, hiccupping, lolloping loafers,
who think if they consume enough strong liquor that the reign of liberty
will come floating down their throats of itself. He is a worker this
one; sober and industrious is our Citizen Dangeau, and a Deputy of the
Commune, too, no less."
Mlle de Rochambeau, slightly dazed by this flow of conversation, felt a
cold chill pass over her. Commissioners of the Commune, Deputies of the
Commune! Was Paris full of them? And till this morning she had never
heard of the Commune; it had always been the King, the Court; and now,
to her faint senses, this new word brought a suggestion of fear, and she
seemed for a moment to catch a glimpse of a black curtain vibrating as
if to rise. Behind it, what? She reeled a little, gasped, and caught
at her companion's solid arm. In a moment it was round her.
"Courage, Ma'mselle, courage then! See, we are arrived. It is better
now, eh?"
Mademoiselle drew a long breath, and felt her feet again. They were in
an alley crowded with small third-rate shops, and so closely set were
the houses that it was almost dark in the narrow street. Mme Leboeuf
led the way into one of the dim entrances, where a strong mingled odour
of cabbages, onions, and apples proclaimed the nature of the commodities
disposed of.
"Above, it will be light enough still," asserted Rosalie between her
panting breaths. "This way, Ma'mselle; one small step, turn to the
left, and now up."
They ascended gradually into a sort of twilight, until suddenly a sharp
turn in the stair brought them on to a landing with a fair-sized window.
Opposite was a gap in the dingy line of houses, and through this gap
shone the strong red of the setting sun.
Mlle de Rochambeau looked out, first at the gorgeous pageant in the sky,
and then, curiously, at the strangeness of her new surroundings. She
saw a tangle of mean slums, streets nearly all gutter, from which rose
sounds of children squabbling, cats fighting, and men swearing. Suddenly
a woman shrieked, and she turned, terrified, to realise that a man was
passing them on his way down the stair.
She caught a momentary but very vivid impression of a tall figure
carried easily, a small head covered with short, dark, curling hair, and
a pair of eyes so blue and piercing that her own hung on them for an
instant in surprise before they fell in confusion. The owner of the
eyes bowed slightly, but with courtesy, and passed on. Madame Leboeuf
was smiling and nodding.
"Good evening, Citizen Dangeau," she said, and broke, as he passed, into
renewed panegyrics.